


Butterfly Effect

by CleganeBowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, F/M, Nonconsenual Meryn Trant/Sansa Stark, Protective Sandor Clegane, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sandor Clegane Swears, Sandor cares but doesn't know why he does, Sandor changes the GAme of Thrones, The Hound loves his wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleganeBowl/pseuds/CleganeBowl
Summary: What if a single choice changed the entire Game of Thrones?Instead of sending the Hound to get Sansa the day Ned was arrested, what if Meryn Trant was sent instead and the Hound was sent for Arya?What if Meryn Trant couldn't pass up the beautiful young Sansa Stark?What if the Hound protectiveness for young wolves started fairly early?*Warnings for rape in the first chapter





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read tags, you've been warned

“Run Sansa, go back to your room and lock the door,” her Septa urged her. The sound of steel on steel echoed ahead of them. “Don’t open it for anyone except your Lord Father.”

“What about you?” Sansa asked, suddenly very afraid.

“Just go child,” she urged again, slightly pushing the young girl as the sound stopped. “

Sansa ever the dutiful child, finally obeyed her Septa and began to head back towards her room.

He came from the shadows, in his white cloak and white armor without his helmet. It was Ser Meryn Trant, a member of the Kings Guard.

“What are you doing here?” she asked wearily as the man came towards her.

“Come with me girl,” he ordered even as he came closer.

Sansa took a step back, “Stay away from me, I’ll tell my Father, I’ll, I’ll tell the Queen,” she threatened. However none of these threats seemed to work on him.

“Who do you think sent me,” sneered Ser Meryn backing her against the wall. “And if you think threatening with your Father will do you any good little bitch think again. You’re Father has just tried to stage a coup.”

Sansa flushed, she couldn’t believe it, “My Father would never!”

Trant didn’t seem to hear her as he focused on her pinkened skin.

“So pretty,” he murmured pushing her further into the wall. The screams of her household had become silent some moments ago, and a chill went down Sansa spine as she realized she was all alone with this man.

He leaned in close to her and to her confusion, dragged his nose up the length of her neck.

“You’re so sweet smelling girl,” he smirked. “I think I’ll have a taste of you.”

A dawning realization rushed over Sansa, a whisper of what men did to young maidens. “You c-can’t I’m betrothed to Joffrey,” she said, trying to sound strong.

Trant just smirked at her. “You have more than one hole girl, your precious maidenhead will be intact for the King.”

With that he roughly turned her around and shoved her front into the cool stones of the hall.

“No! No! No!” cried Sansa as he pulled her skirts up and ripped her small cloths. “Please stop Ser!

Trant just laughed and ignored her.

Sansa heard him fumbling on something on his armor and then something was pushing into her. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out as her senses were assaulted by pain.

She barely heard Trant above the pounding of blood in her ears. “Such a sweet little arse hole,” he grunted as he thrust hard into her.

It seemed to go on forever, Sansa whimpering every time she was jolted against the wall.

“You like that don’t you you little Slut,” he whispered into her ear, taking a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back.

 _No, No, No!_ she screamed inside her head, unable to voice these thoughts. Over the sounds of the blood rushing in her ears, she heard a keening sound. It took a long time to realize that it was coming from her throat.

Finally he stilled with a deep groan, and she felt something warm deep inside her.

Sansa crumpled to the ground as soon as he let go, her legs unable to support her. She sat there shaking as tears continued to flow down her cheeks. Trant ignored her as he adjust his armor before kneeling down and grabbing her hard by the chin.

“If you tell the Queen or Joffrey, I say you asked for it, begged me for it. I’m a member of the Kings Guard, and you are now the disgraced daughter of a traitor that tried to take the throne. Who do you think they will believe slut?”

He leaned in closer and Sansa could smell his rotting breath. “Your damaged goods now girl.”

Her stomach lurched, and Sansa leaned forward and emptied her stomach over the floor. Trant made a disgusted sound and backed up from her. She heaved and heaved until nothing was left and acidic bile burned her throat.

Sansa felt out of control as she continued to heave while also trying to breathe. The edges of her vision were going black when something hard connected with her face.

“Pathetic,” Trant said, “Clean yourself up!”

Sansa was shaking as she raised her hands and used her long sleeve to wipe her face and mouth off. She was hauled to her feet after that and she was immediately assaulted by pain. But Trant did not care as he pulled her forward.

* * *

 

Sandor growled as the little wolf bitch once again tried to kick him.

It had been too simple to get the girl. The Queen had tried to send a detachment of Lannister guards to help him, but he had laughed and said he would get her himself.

He had marched into the courtyard the Stark girl was being taught by the Braavosi Cunt. They had both looked at him.

“You need something?” the Cunt has asked him, with his wooden sword in hand. Sandor almost felt bad, he had spared with the greasy Cunt and had enjoyed it.

“Yes, I do need a word,” Sandor had rasped as he palmed his dagger and sunk it into the man’s chest. It was a quick merciful death, the only favor he could give the man.

“Syrio!” she cried, dropping her wooden sword and racing to him. But Sandor caught her around her middle.

She turned into a little she wolf, trying to bit and scratch him as he carried her back to the throne room. Finally though he had enough, pulling her up to face level he gave her a good shake, enough to make her teeth rattle. “Stop it!” he rasped.

“You killed him! You killed my friend!” she cried, “I hate you! I hate you!”

“Would you rather have him suffer!” the Hound demanded with another shake, “Thrown in the black cells and tortured before being left to rot? Cause if that is what would have happened for being your friend.”

She finally stopped struggling, “What?” her eyes wide in confusion, but he could see the hate and murder in those grey eyes.

“Your Father can’t protect you now little wolf, everyone associated with the Stark name is dead, or will be by tonight. So shut up and stop fighting when I present you to the Queen and King.”

“He’s the Hand of the King!” she said trying to lash out.

“Was Little Wolf, was. Now he’s considered a traitor to the Crown,” he said as he put her under his arm once more and headed towards throne room. He took the back corridors, far away from the Tower of the Hand where he knew the bodies of her entire household would be sprawled out.

Whether she knew it or not, the little wolf’s childhood had just ended. Everything she had known was over with and the small part of the Hound that was once a child playing with his brother’s knight by the fireplace mourned for her.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor tends to Sansa

The throne room was empty of the usual masses as Sandor entered the large room. The boy king was draped over the throne like a petulant child, his bitch of a mother standing proudly behind him.

“Ah Clegane, I see that you have succeeded in bringing the last little Stark,” Cersei said with a smirk. “A match set.”

The little bird was already standing at the bottom of the throne. The Toad seemed to have finally managed to do something right. She looked up at the Queen’s voice with red rimmed eyes, her face paler than usual. Fear was present in her face as she gazed at her sister in his grasp, and Sandor frowned as he saw something else in her gaze. She dropped her gaze too quickly for him to decipher it as he approached her and deposited Arya next to her.

He was surprised, and it seemed so was the little wolf when the little bird reached out and snagged Arya, pulling her close to her, almost seeming to hide her in her skirts.

“What a sweet picture, but don’t worry my Lady my Dog was ordered not to harm the little bitch,” Joffrey smirked from his perch. Toad laughed behind Joffrey, an odd note ringing out. A soft rustle of clothing drew his attention back to the girls beside him, and he inwardly frowned. The Little Bird was trembling, trembling in fear. But instead of the fearful glances being shot at him, she was glancing at Joffrey. But the boy king hadn’t shown his true colors since she had lost her wolf on the King’s Road.

This was a new fear. As he watched her, watched her eyes flicker back towards the throne, no to the left of the thrown, to Ser Meryn Trant. A sinking feeling filled Sandor, what had the cunt done?

“Dog! Take them away!” yelled Joffrey drawling Sandor attention back to the present.

“To the West Wing Clegane,” Cersei called out. “The Tower of the Hand is no longer appropriate for daughters of a traitor.”

Sandor gave a firm nod and reached out for the little bird to turn her towards the door. The girl flinched away as if burned and quickly turned from him.

That was when he saw it, as she turned around, the small spot of blood on the back of her skirt.

Sandor dared not turn around to see if Joffrey and the Queen had seen it. He bottled his emotions as he stepped behind her, blocking her small frame from view as he lead her out of the throne room. Only at the door did he grab the Little Birds arm and pull her along.

The Little Wolf decided this was the perfect time to attack as she pulled away from her sister and tried to hit him again.

“Let her go!” she demanded.

Sandor growled and gave her a cuff on the head with a fraction of his strength, like the unruly pup she was.

Sansa did not make a sound of protest at such treatment, and that worried Sandor. He remembered the welcoming feast in Winterfell and how she had cried out at food being thrown on her by the little she-wolf.

“Stay!” growled Sandor to the little wolf, before turning to her sister. She looked past his shoulder with glassy eyes, not really focusing on anything.

“Little bird?” he asked gently touching her face.

“What wrong with her!” demanded Wolf Bitch as she glared at him, the fight gone from her eyes. Now they were filled with worry, worry for her sister.

Sandor ignored her, focusing on Sansa as she gave no reaction to his touch.

“What the fuck did Trant do to you?” he asked softly.

His words seemed to get through to him as her eyes finally focused on his face, her bottom lip trembling.

“He…He…He hurt me,” she whimpered.

Sandor growled, he knew of Trants sick obsession with young flesh. But Sandor didn’t think even he would touch the King’s betrothed. Hadn’t even gave it a thought when they both had been given orders from the Queen.

Conscious of the ears the walls of the Keep had, Sandor roughly pulled himself away from the little bird before grabbing her again, gently, by the upper arm and the little wolf before going farther into the Keep.

He headed towards the West Wing as instructed. It was the one of the many wings that was totally deserted. Cersei meant it as an insult, to show the Stark girls that they no longer had any power. Under any other circumstances, Sandor knew the Little Bird would be protesting such accommodations. But this was not usual circumstances. However what Cersei had given him was a gift. When he was certain that not even the Spider’s spies were near he reached down and picked both girls up in his arms.

Sansa whimpered into his neck as he picked her up, and Sandor vowed then and there he would make the Toad suffer for what he did to her. The little wolf was more focused on her sister than him for the time being, concern just radiating off of her. It was the longest he had ever seen the girls go without arguing.

He picked a room that overlooked the bay below, windows on two sides, and a bedroom on the other. Sandor knew that there were tunnels all over the Keep, had even seen the Spider use a few. And if knew, than Sandor would bet that Littlefucker knew of them to. This room would be the one most unlikely to have any hidden passages.

He set Little Wolf on the ground to open the door. The air inside was stale, and the sheets covering the furniture were covered in dust.

“Take the sheet off the bed,” he ordered Arya. The girl looked mutionsly at him, but did as he bid. He gently sat Sansa down before turning to bolt the door shut. He paused there, both his hands on the door.

He wondered what the fuck he was doing. Why did he give two shits about these girls? The Lannisters paid him good money to remain loyal and he had been his entire life. The Starks were nothing to him, Eddard Stark just another high-born cunt with his so called honor that caused all of this to pass.

When he turned, Arya was sitting beside Sansa looking worriedly at her. Sansa had curled into herself and was staring at the wall as tears ran down her face, her frame racked in slight shivering.

Sandor pushed the hair out of his eyes and pulled his wine skin and took a fortify drink before going to the bed. The Little Bird was going into shock, like a soldier after a battle. The horrors of what had been done to her was catching up to her. “Drink girl,” he rasped.

Sansa made no move to grab the skin. Sandor resisted the urge to bark at the girl to take the wine, instead easing his hand under her head and pulling it up. He placed the skin in front of her mouth.

“Drink,” he repeated again.

Her mouth opened slowly and Sandor poured his strong Dornish red down her throat. She coughed at the strong sour taste and tried to turn away. “One more swallow Sansa.”

Another swallow and he was satisfied, though she was still shivering. Reaching up he took his cloak off and brought it over her slim form. The little wolf was silent still, unnerving Sandor a bit. Those large grey eyes studying him before looking down at Sansa.

“You know how to start a fire wolf girl?” he rasped.

The girl nodded, though most of her focus was on Sansa.

“Start one, and take that bowl,” he said pointing towards the washing bowl on the nightstand, “And bring this to a boil,” Sandor rasped handing over his wine skin.

The wine and extra warmth seemed to do the job as Sansa’s eyes became focused and pained fill. She was beginning to feel what Trant had done to her and he needed to know. He knelt down by her head and waited for her eyes to focus on him.

“Girl, come now tell me what Trant did?” he said softly. “Did he take your maidenhead?”

She shook her head, “H-h-he said that was for the King, but I had another tight h-h-h-ole,” she sobbed, her breath hitching in her throat. “I want my Papa.”

Protectiveness flowed through Sandor, unfamiliar as it was. Feelings he hadn’t felt for a person since his sister was still living. Almost against his own violation he reached out and brought her to his breast. It couldn’t have been very comfortable, he was still in his armor. He half expected the girl to scream. But the little bird tried to burrow into his breast clutching to him, sobbing. Awkwardly he encased her into arms, holding her. She shook harder at this, but did not push him away.

 “Its boiled,” Arya said after a small amount of time, bringing the bowl over to him. Gently he pulled away from Sansa and accepted the steaming bowl of wine before grabbing the sheet that had once covered the bed and ripped it into strips and put them into the wine.

“What are you going to do?” demanded Arya.

Sandor ignored her and once again kneeled by Sansa. “Little bird,” he said looking deep in her eyes. “A dog will die for you, but never lie to you and look you right in the face. I won’t hurt you, but I need to see the damage the bastard did.”

Sansa immediately shook her head and tried to pull away. Sandor let her, he wasn’t going to force her.

Sandor looked up to Arya, “It needs cleaned and treated,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt her.”

Arya’s lips thinned. She hated the Hound, he killed her friend. But here he was, handling Sansa so gently, nothing like the brute he was. The Queen had ordered him to take them here, but didn’t tell him to stay. He could have just left instead of trying to help.

“Sansa, let the Hound help you,” she said taking Sansa’s hand in her own. “I’ll kill him if he hurts you.”

Sandor couldn’t help but snort at that. Sansa was silent but hesitantly nodded at her sister.

Sandor grabbed a rag from the hot wine and wrung it out. “I’m going to touch you now Little Bird,” he said softly gently.

She began to tremble again but managed to give him a nod to continue.

Sandor grabbed her skirt and pulled it up, his nose immediately assaulted by the smell of blood. A small trail had bleed down to her stockings.

He followed the trail to the source, and felt black cold rage as he saw the damage Trant had inflected. Though he forced his touch to remain calm as he began to clean up the blood. Sansa flinched every time the rag touched her skin and turned her face into Arya’s lap. The little wolf watched Sandor’s every movement with sharp eyes.

Sandor didn’t linger longer than necessary and when he was down he pulled her skirts back into place.

Sobs finally began to escape her small form as everything she had been keeping at bay came out.

Sansa wanted her Mother in that moment. She felt raw, used, and dirty. The stories lied, the songs lied, everything her Mother and Septa had ever told her was a lie. Knights were supposed to be chivalrous, protecting the weak, young, and old.

He was a Knight, a member of the Kingsguard, the highest honor a Knight could achieve and he did that to her.

The Hound wasn’t a Knight and he had shown her more kindness then a Knight. His hands were gentle and did not linger as he had cleaned her up.

“What happened to Father?” Arya asked breaking the silence. “Why did this happen to her, to us?”

Her small voice was demanding as she looked hard at the Hound.

“Your Father trusted the wrong man, the fool,” Sandor said truthfully but not harshly. “He confronted the Queen with some information, thinking the he had the Goldcloaks. Littlefucker betrayed him, and held a dagger to his throat while his men were slaughtered.”

“He said he was a friend of our Mother’s,” Sansa said softly as new tears ran down her face.

Sandor bit back the comment that Littlefinger just wanted to fuck their Mother. “He lied Little Bird,” he said instead. Watching as another small piece of her innocence died in her eyes. He had the sudden urge to wrap her into his arms again. But he beat it back down, instead he abruptly stood and began to inventory what was in the room.

“The Toad should have never been knighted, but the Queen convinced Robert to put him on his King’s Guard. He took advantage of the situation that was presented. Your Father has fallen from grace and won’t rise again, and you two along with it. His word is worth more than yours, he would blame your sister and she would be punished.”

“I’ll kill him,” promised Arya darkly.

Sandor did not reply, but settled down in a chair as far as possible as he could away from the girls. They needed space to digest this information and he needed to make a list of supplies, wine being on top of the list.

He needed to get poultices from Pycelle, and soft food for the Little Bird. As he lay in the Maester’s rooms recovering from his burns a number of girl servants had been in there, brutalized in a similar manner of Sansa by Gregor. He was well aware of the struggle Sansa faced, the pain, the weeks of recovery, and the guilt & horror of facing what had happened to her. She had been sheltered in the North, and even here in this shit-hole of a city by her Father and his guards. Now there was only him.

A Lannister dog. For reasons he didn’t understand himself, he wanted to protect her, to protect both of them. Because Little Wolf reminded him to much of himself when he was young. Maybe he was a fool, but the shadow of the boy he used to be, before he was burned, who wanted desperately to be a knight and fight for the weak, who wanted to save the beautiful maiden, wanted to help these girls. To save them the pain that awaited them.

All three jumped when there was a knock at the door, he immediately grabbed the dagger from his boot and moved towards the door.

“Who is it,” he growled. If it was Trant, Sandor knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back.

“Clegane, it’s Selmy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sandor slowly sheathed his dagger and opened the door. There stood Barristen Selmy in all his King’s Guard finery. As if a white cloak could hide all the blood the old bastard had spilled in his life.

Without preamble the old man pushed his way into the room, his eyes immediately going to Lord Stark’s children.

“No! Not again, not again,” whimpered the eldest girl as she gazed at him. “Please!”

“Sansa,” the younger cried clutching the older one. “It’s not him, its not him!”

Of course Selmy mistook that statement as something Sandor had done. He rounded on Sandor with all of his righteousness, hand going to his sword. “What did you do to her?!”

The poor thing was shaking with terror, her vivid blue eyes shining with tears. So different from the creature that Trant had presented to the court just an hour prior.

Sandor snarled at the other man. What he had done? What he had done!

“Fucking nothing,” growled Sandor, his own hand going to his own sword. The Hound was seeing red, what had he done? What had he done! He was not his brother, he didn’t rape little girls.

Neither man was expecting the candlesticks from beside the bed to be thrown at them.

“Get out!” yelled the little she-wolf. When neither man moved she growled like the wolf she was and jumped off the bed and pushed at the Hound. “Get out! Get out!”

The Hound glared at the girl, but the girl did not cower, she just glared back. He flickered his eyes towards the bed where Sansa was dissolved into pained whimpering. Selmy tried to react to the girls obvious distress by making a move towards the bed. But Sandor was quicker, pushing Arya out of the way he brought his sword to Selmy’s throat.

“Into the corridor Selmy,” he growled.

“I’ll not leave that poor girl with the likes of you,” Selmy snapped back harshly.

Sandor gave a humorless chuckle. “And I’ll not leave her with one who dubs a white cloak. No old man, we are both going to the corridor and the little wolf here is going to try to calm her down.”

Selmy seemed confused with his choice of words, but he did what he was bid, slowly backing away from Clegane’s sword and back towards the door. Sandor sheathed his sword and cast one last glance at the Little Bird. Her breaths were short and quick, and he knew if she didn’t calm down soon she would pass out. Which might be a blessing for the Little Bird, escape the horrors for a little while.

Arya wanted to push the big man again, to make him get out of the room. But he was looking at Sansa with so much worry across his ugly face that it shocked her. The big brute had been so gentle, so careful as he had cleaned Sansa. Even the cuff he had given her to the head was nowhere as hard as it could have been. It set her teeth on edge, not knowing what to expect from this man, for him to be Joffrey’s loyal dog or the oddly gentle man.

She huffed, she didn’t want to think of the dog. He killed Mycah and Syrio, she wanted to kill him, didn’t she?

Arya climbed back onto the bed and gently petted Sansa’s hair, she knew that Sansa enjoyed her hair being played with. Slowly Sansa’s breathing began to calm, becoming deeper and steady.

“It’s alright Sansa, the Hound took the Knight away,” Arya said softly.

Sansa laughed bitterly, surprising the hells out of Arya. “Ser Barristen Selmy, the most ‘honorable’ Knight in the realm. Knights are a lie, only good for killing.”

The Hound was right, killing is what made a Knight. The title nothing but a cloak to allow a man to get away with his crimes. She remembered what the Hound had said the day of the Tourney of the Hand, what his brother the knight had done to him.

They weren’t the honorable men from the songs that Mother had always told her about. She had finally saw the world was not a song, not a story. The South was not a wonderful place that both her Septa and Mother had told her about.

The Queen and Joffrey had gloated that her Father was in the dungeon when he had finally dragged her into the throne room. It was like the veil had been drawn from her eyes, and she could see the malice in the boy king’s eyes as he looked down at her. There was no love in his gaze, he was looking at her like she was a bug to be squashed.

Sansa could barely contain her tears as she stood there, trembling in pain. She had felt like her knees would buckle at any time. And he stood behind Joffrey and just smirked at her, slowly licking his lips, and adjusting his armor between his legs. It made her feel ill.

Then the Hound had come in, dragging Arya. She had thought he would be just as cruel as Trant when he dragged her out of the throne room. But he had been so gentle with her and he seemed to know that something had happened. Revealing that he had hurt her had come tumbling out. And then the rest of the story had come out later. Then he had cleaned her, and he was nothing like the brute she thought he was.

The thought of Ser Barristen touching her sent Sansa into a panic attack. But the Hound’s did not. Barristan was an honorable man, a Knight looked highly upon by everyone, her Father included. The Hound was Joffrey’s sworn shield, a Lannister man. He was a brute, rude, and a drunk. However he was not a Knight. His touches didn’t send waves of repulsion down her spine. When he hugged her, after confessing she just wanted her Father, Sansa soul had been slightly soothed. His large, powerful arms had almost immediately reminded her of Ned Stark but that was where the similarities ended.

Father always seemed to smell like Winter, the North. Cool and crisp with a hint of musk of rotting weirwood leaves.

The Hound smelled like leather, horses, but he also smelled clean. His armor was hard, while her Father always wore his leather armor.

But she felt safe with both of them. Like nothing could happen to her.

However she knew that was a lie. He had seen to that.

 

* * *

 

Selmy’s hand was once again on his sword as Sandor shut the door behind him.

Before the old man could attack him again, Sandor bet him to the punch.

“Fuck you, and your white cloak,” Sandor growled at the old knight. “I don’t touch little girls unlike your sworn brothers.”

This has the old fucker freeze in uncertainty. "What do you mean?”

“Meryn Trant likes them young Selmy,” Sandor rasped softly and looked purposely at the door.

Selmy froze as the implications sunk it. “He wouldn’t, she’s the King’s betrothed.”

“Whose Father has been branded a traitor after an unsuccessful coup. You were there Selmy same as I. Her protection is gone and Trant just took advantage of it. She cannot come forward, her word is useless now and no one can demand punishment.”

Selmy looked sadly at the door, “A member of the Kingsguard taking a girls maidenhead.”

“He didn’t take her maidenhead,” Sandor said softly, “But he raped her Barristen.”

Selmy paled at the implication hit him once more. “The Seven help her.”

Sandor scoffed, “The gods, fuck the gods. Even if there was do you really think they have mercy on anyone? If there were any gods, Trant would never been born.”

Selmy didn’t argue with Sandor. How could he with all that he had seen in his life. Where were the gods dismorning in the throne room? Lord Stark had a note from the King, and the Queen just tore it in half. Now this, that poor innocent girl. She was always so sweet, a kind and gentle girl when he saw her.

Looking at the Hound, Selmy wondered if the big man wanted to go out and kill Trant like his honor was demanding. His hand was clutching the pommel of his sword, opening and closing around the cold metal.

Yes, he decided. After what he witnessed, Selmy would wager that if it wasn’t for the girls in the room behind him, the Trant would have already felt the Hound’s wrath.

“Why are you here?” asked Sandor suddenly. Why had the old knight sought the Stark girls out?

“The Queen wished to talk to you,” Selmy said. “After the evening meal.”

Sandor growled once more, talking to the Queen meant leaving the girls alone. Though a part of him knew that he would have to leave them alone to get supplies. Which he would have to get soon.

However doubts plagued his mind. What if Trant came looking for more while he was gone? The Little Wolf was a fighter, but even Trant could beat a little girl like her. Sandor knew that the Toad would not hesitate to do to the Little Wolf what he had done to the Little Bird. Except the Little Wolf did not have the flimsy shield of being the King’s betrothed.

Unless, he glanced at Selmy, Selmy stood guard for the girls until he returned. Out of all the knights in Kings Landing, Selmy was about the only one he trusted to not harm his girls. However he was a hypocrite like all the other Sers, a liar with his vows. Sworn to protect Rhagear, and yet here he was guarding the Lannisters who killed his King.

Sandor realized that some might say the same of him. He had served House Lannister his whole life, his House had been created only because of House Lannister. Yet here he was, helping House Stark to the best of his ability. The only thing different between Selmy and him, was that Sandor never swore any vows, to anyone.

Sandor knew before he made any decisions he would have to discuss it with his girls.

“Wait here,” he growled before turning around and stalking back into the room, leaving the door opened.

Both girls jumped at his sudden reappearance, and while the little wolf bristled, Sansa looked almost relieved that it was him standing in the doorway.

In quick measured steps he came before the bed and knelt down to be eye level with both girls.

“Little Bird, Little Wolf the Queen has summoned me,” he said softly.

The effect was immediate. “Don’t leave,” the Little Bird begged, her small hand shooting out and gasping his own as her eyes filtered over his shoulder to the doorway. Sandor didn’t have to turn around to know that Selmy was standing there.

“I have to Little Bird,” he rasped gently. “Upsetting the Queen is never a wise idea.”

“Let him go Sansa, he’s just going to tell her,” snarled Arya.

Sandor had to resist the urge to chuckle as he looked at the Little Wolf. She was crouched protectively over Sansa like a wolf protecting her cub. Her small size just made it more ridiculous looking.

He reached out and poked her on her chest, causing her to fall down, gently reminding the girl that she was no challenge to him. “If I was planning on doing that Little Wolf, I would have marched you right back to the throne room instead of bringing you up here. Telling her now would only serve to get my ugly mug mounted on a pike and I’m rather attached to it, as monstrous as it is.”

Before Arya could respond, Sansa’s hand migrated from his arm to his check, his burnt check. “You’re not a monster,” she whispered before turning to Arya. “He won’t hurt us.”

Sandor felt stripped raw at her touch and her words. He carefully brought his hand up and cradled her hand against his check before bringing both of them down. “No Little Bird, I won’t hurt you or the Little Wolf and I’ll make sure that nothing does. Selmy might but be a knight, but he’s the only one in this gods forsaken that I know that won’t hurt you.”

Sansa studied him, and Sandor knew he was being judged.

Sansa did not flinch from his face, like she told him he wasn’t a monster. A pretty face did nothing but hide the monster underneath. A person’s actions determined if they were a monster.

Sansa did not glance at the Knight at the door, she didn’t want to see the gold armor and the white cloak. A voice in her head that sounded like her mother, lectured how inappropriate she was being with the Hound and how Ser Barriston was the most honorable knight in the Seven Kingdom’s.

Sansa ruthlessly quashed that voice. Her Mother was wrong. The Hound had more honor than all the so called Knights.

“You’ll be back soon?” she asked in a small voice, sounding like the child she was.

“I’ve got to grab a few things, but I’ll come back before going to see the Queen Sansa,” Sandor said lowly.

“Alright.”

Sandor rose gracefully and turned towards Selmy. “You’ll watch them until I return?”

Selmy nodded.

However the Hound wasn’t satisfied with this non-verbal answer. The old man needed to know the consequences of crossing him.

“If you dare put on finger on those girls while I’m away. I’ll make you wish you died on the Trident,” growled the Hound leaning his face as close as he could to Selmy’s. “But maybe I’ll make you pretty like me first.”

Sandor had the satisfaction of watching Selmy pale around the gills.“They won’t be harmed Clegane.”

Sandor grunted before slowly pulling away, he sensed no lie. But he still pulled out his smallest dagger and placed it in Wolf Girls hands. “Protect your sister Wolf Girl,” he rasped.

Arya’s small hand was dwarfed beside his own as she reached out and grasped the handle.

“I will,” she said, her eyes flickering to where Selmy stood before going back to the Hounds.

Sandor gave her a firm nod, before spinning on his heel and exiting the room, despite every instinct telling him to turn around and not leave the girls. But he had to get supplies.

It was easy to sneak into Pycelle’s stores, the old fool probably banging some poor whore. He opened a few until he found the poultices that he needed and milk of the poppy. Even after all these years he could still remember the smell of the stuff. He pocketed them into his hip bag and slipped back out.

Sneaking into the Tower of the Hand was a bit more difficult than Pycelle’s. Gold cloaks were coming and going, removing the bodies of the Stark guards. But he managed to sneak past them and into the girls rooms. The Little Wolf’s room was already packed, but he was in luck that the Little Bird’s room was mostly intact. He quickly gathered a frilly white night shift, new small cloths, and a clean dress. He was about to leave when he saw a doll sitting on her vanity.

When he was recovering, nothing gave him more comfort than an old bitch that would crawl into his bed and sleep next to him like he was her pup. Maybe the Little Bird could find some comfort from it when the nightmares started. He picked it up and rolled it up into the cloths, stuffing the small bundle between his chest and armor.

The sound of Gold Cloaks had Sandor ducking down the stairs and into the walkway that entered the yard where it was quiet. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, dozens of men slaughtered within these walls. But no blood splattered the hallway Sandor walked down, nothing out of place except for a bit of white cloth. It was so out of place that Sandor stopped and picked it up to examine it.

Sandor blood boiled as he looked at the scrap of cloth in his hand. There was no doubt that he held the Little Birds small cloths. Sandor wanted to draw his sword and find Trant and cut the cunt down. To ram his sword up his arse like he had the little bird.

He angrily stuffed the bit of cloth away and headed towards the yard. In a fit of anger he kicked the chest that lay abandoned. The wood splintered under his foot, and cloths spilled out, girls cloths. It seemed that he found the Little Wolf’s trunk. He knelt down reached into it to drag a few of the dresses out when his hand closed upon something thin and hard. The Hound barked out a laugh as he drew out a small thin sword, the perfect size for the Little Wolf. He tucked the sword into his belt and grabbed the same essentials that he grabbed for Sansa.

His last stop was the kitchens where he grabbed soup for both his girls. The Little Bird would need to be on a liquid diet for a few weeks until she was fully healed on the inside.

Selmy hadn’t moved much by the time Sandor mounted the steps to the West Wing.

“Clegane.”

“Selmy, all quiet?”

“I believe one of Vary’s or Baleish spies were sniffing around,” Selmy said. “I heard light footsteps from the bottom of the stairs.”

Sandor grunted, he expected that. He was glad he had chosen this remote room.

Knocking on the door, he pushed it open. Arya’s head snapped up as he walked through the door, the dagger clenched firmly in her hand.

“Easy Little Wolf, just me,” he rasped setting the tray down.

“Needle!” she exclaimed, her eyes focused on the sword. Jumping up she made a bee line for Sandor.

Of course the Little Wolf would name her sword. He quickly drew the sword from his belt and raised it above his head. Arya scowled and made a jump for it.

“That’s mine!” she growled eyeing him. Sandor wondered for a brief moment if she was going to attempt to climb him like a tree.

“If I give this to you, will you stab me with it?” Sandor growled.

Arya glared at him before shaking her head. Sandor raised his good brow and waited. Finally she huffed with her hands on her hips. “I won’t stab you.”

Sandor slowly lowered his arm and Arya practically pounced on the sword and brought it close.

“My brother gave me this blade, my best brother,” Arya said, “Thank-you for bringing it here Clegane.”

Sandor nodded and turned to Sansa, there was a slight smile on her face as she watched her sister. He placed the bundle on the bed next to her. “I brought you both some cloths,” Sandor rasped unrolling the bundle and pulling out the doll. “I brought you this Little Bird.”

Sansa’s hands trembled as she reached out and grasped the doll. “Thank-you…Sandor,” she whispered as she cradled the doll close.

It was wrong to call him Hound, not after doing so much for them. He would be Sandor, he would always be Sandor from now on.

* * *

 

The Red Cloaks opened the door automatically as he drew close. Sandor was glad of it. He wanted to get back his girls as soon as possible.

“Your Grace,” rasped Sandor as stepped through the door.

The Queen was standing with her back to him, staring out the window with her customary glass of wine in her hand.

“You put the Stark girls in the West Wing?” she queried without turning around.

“Yes your Grace,” he replied.

“Good,” she said taking a sip.

Silence fell over the pair. Others might have taken this as dismissal. But Sandor had guarded this particular bitch for years and knew that she was getting off on making him wait. He settled back on his heels and waited for the Queen to finish her drink.

Finally she turned around and looked at him. “You will be the primary guard for the Stark girls, most of your duties as Joffrey’s sworn shield will be transferred to the King’s Guards.”

Sandor was shocked, but only allowed a slight tilt of his head to show his confusion on the situation.

Cersei looked down at her cup, “You have been a Lannister man all your life. You have proven your loyalty as my personal shield and then my sons, it has never been questioned.”

The unspoken cause of her certainty hung heavy in the air. Sandor knew where all her skeletons were buried, knew that Joffrey and his siblings were not Roberts for years. However he had never said a word to anybody about anything. She had rewarded him in her own way, insisting that he be Joffrey’s sworn shield without swearing any vows. Protecting the golden cunt was a nice job before he turned into a sadistic freak.

“Not all the Stark men have been accounted for just yet. I do not need to stress how important it is that the Stark girls stay where they are.”

“Yes your Grace,” Sandor once again rasped.

Cersei waved her hand dismissing him.

“Tell me Clegane,” Cersei’s voice said before Sandor could fully turn around. “You’re known for your honesty. What do you think will happen now? What will the North do?”

“The Stark whelp was raised with the stories of how his Father rebelled against a whole kingdom to get his sister back. The greenboy will come your Grace,” Sandor said honestly. “For his Father and his sisters.”

Cersei didn’t stop him as he turned again. She turned back to the setting sun and drained what was left in her goblet. Clegane was right, the stupid Stark Boy would march down from the godforsaken North. A boy who wanted to prove himself a man, he would do what all young men did.

But they had all the Starks. She would have the Little Dove write to the Stark boy on the marrow. The idiot child would want to please her, perhaps a letter from the Little Dove would be enough to dissuade the boy from marching. Lord Eddard would be sent to the Wall. The man wanted the North, she would give him the farthest North to spend the rest of his life at. The honorable Lord Eddard would swear his vows to the Nights Watch and that would be it. His daughters would spend the rest of their lives at King’s Landing. Sansa would marry Joff and the wild one would be fostered onto someone who could control her. This would be her repayment to Lord Eddard. He was a foolish man, but he did offer to get her children out of the Capital so they did not end up like the Targaryen babes. And a Lannister always repaid their debts.

Cersei smiled into her empty goblet, everything would work out alright.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've tried to write something like this, so constructed criticism is welcome.


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